


What A Night Not To Be A Wizard

by jehanjetaime



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Panic Attacks, Platonic Relationships, Rape Recovery, Trans Grantaire, mentions of the others - Freeform, none of the assualt stuff is graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 18:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12326679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehanjetaime/pseuds/jehanjetaime
Summary: After Grantaire is assaulted in a parking lot, he finds himself with Enjolras' full attention for the first time.





	What A Night Not To Be A Wizard

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of non-graphic sexual assault. I started his months and months ago when I was riding he bus at night a lot and thought it felt too much like a scene from a longer fic, so I was saving it...but figured what the hell, might as well post it as is.

The dragging thud-thud-thud of his own footsteps was no replacement for the thumping music that he had, only an hour ago, been listening to. Those earbuds, until they had been yanked out, had been a salvation from the city sounds that grated on him - auditory hypersensitivity was a real bitch.

But so was being jumped in a dark parking lot, and if Grantaire had to pick one or the other, he’d pick his overly sensitive hearing any day. Too bad tonight had not been a night for choosing, because now every single sound on this filthy block was magnified and Grantaire had a smashed lip, a black eye, a bleeding back of the head, and something he didn’t want to think about crusted into his hair, but was no longer in possession of either his phone or his wallet. At least his last  _ticket t+_ was safe in the pocket of his vest, where it had not been found by sneaking fingers and grabbing hands. Otherwise he would have had to dragged an aching, swollen ankle 20 blocks and up three flights of stairs.

The bus would make it two blocks and three flights of stairs, so he forced himself from that bar parking lot and started home. A walk that usually took him ten minutes took nearly half an hour, with all of the times Grantaire sat and stopped to sit on the curb or a bench. He was too scared to just sit on the flat ground; what if he wasn’t able to get up again?

All the same, he made it to the bus stop at about 1:30am, just in time to catch the last bus of the night. Grantaire was dying to collapse onto the seat at the bus stop, mysterious wet spot be damned, but didn’t want to risk missing his bus because he couldn’t get up in time - in the dim lamplight, his dark clothing would make him hard to spot for even the keenest of bus drivers. So he remained standing, flamingo-ing to keep from putting any weight on his injured right ankle.

During the fight - though that term was generous - Grantaire had gone through a gamut of emotions. Surprise, fear, anger. They were all still simmering just below the surface, and he wanted to go home more than anything, to see his baby (Pine Nut, a black milk snake won in a bet), to fall asleep and deal with his injuries in the morning.

None of this could happen if the bus never showed up, however. The street felt abandoned, and Grantaire’s tired brain started to come up with all sorts of scenarios. He lets it, because anything is better to think about than the events of the night.

The bus never comes and he is left here all night.

The bus does come, but when it does it is old-fashioned, more trolly car than anything, and his modern clothes confused the people dressed from travel in the 1930s.

The bus comes, but once he gets on he can never get off again.

A black dog appears in the bushes across the road (although there are none, only a dented trash can) and in a moment of panic he flings out his wand arm and summons the Knight Bus.

Well. He would admit to holding out his left hand and looking either way for a purple bus to appear on the quiet street - as he did every time he is waiting for the bus alone, if he’s honest with himself - but with his injuries, his aching face, burning ribs, foul-tasting mouth, and pound-pound-pounding ears, it felt stupid and childish in a way it had never felt before. Grantaire dropped his hand and looked up at a murky black sky.

“What a night not to be a wizard,” he mumbled to himself, leaning against the plexiglass wall of the bus stop. It was a sentiment that he had thought many, many times.

There was a rumbling down the road, and lights, but one quick glance revealed that it was neither the Knight Bus nor any other bus, just a run down brown car that trundled past him too slowly. Still burning from how carefree he had been in the parking lot, Grantaire was more wary, shrinking back into the shadows and balling his hands into fists. Not that it mattered; if someone else wanted to take him on, tonight was the night to do it. He could hardly move, much less defend himself.

Grantaire shut his eyes once the car passed and tried to figure out just what, pray tell, the fuck had happened. He was a dancer, a boxer, and had a world-class fencing championship under his belt from back when he was 16. So how had three punks with skateboards gotten the best of him?

The answer a good many people would give - friends, family, complete strangers - was that he had been too drunk to defend himself. But honestly, that was not true. Grantaire was an excellent fighter when he was blitzed off his ass, and he had not been THAT drunk when he left the bar, most of it soaked up in the three cheeseburgers he had put away earlier. Maybe it was all of the food that had slowed him down.

No. Cheeseburgers would never hurt him that way.

Maybe it was just the surprise. Grantaire hadn’t seen them, hadn’t been aware that they were hanging out just behind a car in the parking lot. That had probably been their plan all along, to wait for a stupid-looking mark to come rambling through the parking lot as if he didn’t have a care in the world. What a wonderful mark he must have been. 

He hoped they liked his music choices, at least - Grantaire was a proud free-lance DJ and had more than a few excellent playlists on that phone. Perhaps they would enjoy his “Songs For 13YOs to Pretend To Grind To” playlist; maybe “Boring Middle Class Beach Themed Wedding” was more their speed. Too bad he would probably never know.

When it felt as if he would die, or maybe turn into stone and people would think he was a pretentious art installation, before the bus got there, he heard wheels again and saw bright green letters floating in the distance. There was only one bus that stopped here, and Grantaire pushed himself to his feet as it approached. The full weight of his body on his busted up ankle made him mind swim, and he nearly fell over. But Grantaire had experience keeping himself on his feet, and did so until the bus slowed in front of him.

The driver gave him an odd look as he boarded, which wasn’t a surprise. Grantaire was bruised, dirty, and bloody at 1:47 - seventeen minutes late! - in the morning on a Wednesday. He brushed off the question (”You okay, bub?”) with a jaunty smile and a wink before moving to the back of the bus. There was one other person on the bus, who seems asleep, and Grantaire moved as quickly as he could past them, aiming for the seat right by the back door. Could he have sat in the front? Of course. But Grantaire liked this seat, and even injured as he was he felt as if he should leave those seats open for any late-night elderly travelers or pregnant people.

Just as he sat down in the outside seat right across from the back door, a drowsy voice met his ears. It was the most soothing thing he had heard all night. “Grantaire?”

He looked up to see that the only other occupant of the bus was no longer sleeping, and was Enjolras. Beautiful, strong Enjolras, the nucleus of Grantaire’s friends - without him, they would very likely all be like-minded strangers. Glorious, stern Enjolras, who always seemed to arch ever higher in the sky as Grantaire watched from below, rooted into the ground with the other sunflowers. 

Enjolras, who Grantaire had been madly in love with for three years, and who would hardly give him a second of attention. Not that Grantaire was surprised - he was always arguing with Enjolras, but just because no one debated quite like that man and intellect was extremely attractive. With his hood pulled up over his eyes and chin dropped to his chest, Grantaire hadn’t even given him a second glance. But now that he knew Enjolras was there, he was very aware of how much he currently resembled a steaming pile of turds. “...hey!” he said, grinning through a bleeding, split lip. “Didn’t know you...you took this bus.”

“What happened to you?” Enjolras pulled his hood down, revealing a sproingy mess of golden blond curls that bounced from his head in every direction imaginable. He looked tired as hell, probably a result of all of those books that were tearing his bag apart at the seams, but still radiant.

Grantaire shrugged, but automatically regretted it. Pain shot through the side he had been kicked in more times than he could count, and his grin turned into a gritting of the teeth. Which, with his lip, also hurt. “Ah, maybe I was...jumped? Ah, that sounds like a 90’s teen drama plot. A bunch of guys got me in the parking lot and beat the hell outta me. That’s better.”

“Holy shit,” Enjolras said. He gathered up his stuff and stood. Walking with ease on the moving bus, he dumped his stuff in the seat in front of Grantaire. “Scoot over, let me see…”

Grantaire, who knew that Enjolras never paid him much time of day, had never assumed that he would be under such close scrutiny by the man. He hunched his shoulders, not wanting Enjolras to look TOO closely. “Stop…”

“I won’t. You got your ass kicked, R,” he said, and Grantaire’s heart skipped a beat at the nickname. He didn’t even know Enjolras KNEW the others all called him that. “That eye...that lip. You’re covered in blood. We’re going to the hospital.”

“What? No - “

“Yes. I think Combeferre is working tonight, we’ll bring you to him, alright?”

Grantaire wanted to fight him. But Enjolras looked truly concerned, and Grantaire had to admit it - he liked that Enjolras was worried about him. “...maybe Joly instead?” he asked. At least Joly knew. “I know he’s working.”

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll call him and make sure.”

Enjolras pulled his phone out and watched Grantaire carefully as he waited for it to ring. Grantaire felt stupid - for getting attacked, for letting Enjolras see, for letting Enjolras help him - but it had been quite some time since someone had taken care of him. And he WAS dizzy.

He listened to Enjolras talk to Joly on the second time he made the call, feeling sort of like he was fading in and out. That would happen with a skateboard to the back of the skull, he guessed. It hadn’t hit until now, not really. Why? He didn’t know.

“Grantaire?” came a voice from the haze. “Grantaire, can you hear me?”

“What? Sorry, yeah…I’m here.” Those deep eyes were so concerned.

“Tell me what else happened so I can tell Joly,” Enjolras said, holding his phone to his ear.

“Ah...I would rather…” But he shook his head, which also proved to be a bad idea. “Can it wait until we’re there?”

“Sure. Sure thing.” Enjolras turned back to the phone. “I don’t know, Joly, he’s not doing great. He’s confused and slurring his words a lot, but not like he does when he’s drunk. I’m gonna get him off the bus at the next stop and call S.A.M.U. Oh, alright, thank you...it’ll be Turbigo–Étienne Marcel off the 38...thank you, Joly. We’ll be there soon.”

Enjolras hung up and shoved the phone in his pocket. “Did you hear me, R? I’m getting you to the hospital, alright?”

He just nodded and closed his eyes.

“Aw, shit,” Enjolras muttered. “I can never remember...I think it’s okay but just in case maybe you should try to stay awake. We’re almost to the next stop anyways, here, let’s keep you awake.”

Enjolras spoke to him and kept squeezing his wrist to keep him in the land of the living, but Grantaire was hardly aware of it. He just knew that now that he had a chance to sit down and rest, his body was ready to shut down. But after what felt like a second of sitting, Enjolras was pulling him to his feet.

He nearly collapsed as his pain bolted through his bad ankle. “Fuck,” he swore, clinging to a pole meant for standing passengers. “I don’t know about walking on this…”

“We’ll just get you to the bus stop, Joly is sending an ambulance for you, alright?” Enjolras’ voice and face were swimming, as if Grantaire was underwater. So he just let Enjolras ease him off of the bus and lower him onto the bench at the stop. Enjolras crouched in front of him. “Are you drunk? High? Anything the hospital should know about?”

“Little drunk,” he said. “Haven’t done anything else today…”

“Okay, okay. Just in case you do pass out I want to be able to tell them that.” Enjolras, Grantaire mused, was very good at getting people to the hospital. Just last year Courfeyrac had gotten caught in a protest turned violent and lost his right pinky and ring fingers when some militant fool had set off a pipe bomb. Combeferre, usually so calm, was understandably distraught and completely useless at the sight of his boyfriend’s hand nearly blown clean off; Enjolras had been the one to arrange everything and get Courf to the doctor.

“You’re...you’re really organized,” he said. What was this? It felt sudden that things were so muddled, as compared to right after the attack. A voice that sounded annoyingly like Jehan told him that it was because someone was there to help him now.

Maybe.

Either way, Enjolras kept talking to him, just trying to keep him in the land of the living until the blue flashing lights and sounds of a siren faded into existence.

 

* * *

 

He came back to full awareness in the hospital, sitting on a table with Enjolras by his side. Perhaps not full awareness, but a better grasp of reality without swimming faces.

What had drawn him back into the world, honestly, was a beeping that sounded like it was right in his ears. One of the machines was making it, no doubt, but nothing was hooked up to him. So nothing was keeping him alive and that beeping could stop any time it liked. He scowled and pressed a hand over his ear closest to the beeping.

“Oh, wait,” Enjolras said. His voice was like sleeping on satin after a year of camping. “Here, I asked the receptionist for these…”

He fished around in his pockets and handed Grantaire a little plastic bag with two rounded, bright yellow cones in it - ear plugs. He took them, holding the bag in his hand as if he had never seen anything before, much less held anything. “You remembered?”

“Of course I did,” he said. “Always funny how it applied to everything except the sound of your own voice.”

Grantaire had to smile a bit at that. He unfolded the adhesive plastic strip and pulled out the soft plugs. Once they were placed firmly in his ears, the world seemed a bit calmer. Enjolras signed three letters at him - “J-R-E” - before ducking out of the room. They had all learned LSF for Pontmercy a while back when he joined in their group and with him being a massive nerd, they used a lot of internet jargon sign-wise. Grantaire could have heard Enjolras through the ear plugs, but his courtesy was appreciated.

He sat in the room, reading some of the signs on the wall, waiting, trying not to think. He really did just want to go home...but having all of Enjolras’ attention to himself was nice, a rarity. Perhaps a first - despite (or maybe because of) Grantaire’s all-encompassing crush on Enjolras, they never spent time together alone. Also, Grantaire couldn’t stop nit-picking Enjolras’ arguments and coming up with counterpoints to everything he said. Were he not in such a state, he might have spent some time thinking about how maybe that was just self-sabotage, keeping Enjolras at a distance and screwing things up on purpose before he screwed them up by accident.

But he hoped that he was forgiven for not falling into deep thoughts - he was dealing with something a little more pressing, something he didn’t want to deal with, something he didn’t want to even talk about. And his physical health couldn’t have that much of a risk after that sort of thing, right? It was only minor compared to what it could have been.

The door opened, and the man coming into the room was not Enjolras, but Joly. Joly was not only a comforting person, but he _looked_ comforting. He barely broke 1.5 meters, had soft hair that caressed the side of his face in a mushroom cut no one else on the planet could pull off, and had a pudgy roundness that pulled his soft look together.

Grantaire had known Joly since he was 5. There was no one else he could trust right now. Joly smiled and went over to mute that beeping machine as Grantaire pulled his earplugs out. Joly crossed over and held a hand out. Grantaire took it, pleased for the physical comfort. “Do you hold hands with all of your patients, Dr. Joly?”

“I only wish I was already a doctor,” he said, though he was close - only a few months left unless he wanted to be a surgeon. Joly squeezed his hand once before letting it go. Grantaire saw that warm gaze dart to his hair. “Do you want to tell me what happened so I can take a look at you?”

“Group of teenagers...well, I guess they were teenagers, they were smaller than me but most people are. Anyways, I was coming out of the bar - the HTB on Rue Saint Denis? - when they got me. Beat the shit outta me, stole my wallet and my phone…” He would have to call the bank - his CB card was in there. Too bad he didn’t have. You know. A phone. “Took a skateboard to the back of my head, when they got me down they whaled on my face, nearly kicked my ribs in...and my ankle, it’s in rough shape. ”

“Anything else?” Joly asked, moving away to wash his hands and put on gloves. 

“No.”

Joly paused but did not push. Grantaire knew he would, but didn’t know if he could say it. After all, maybe it hadn’t been that bad.

“Alright,” Joly said. “I’m going to take a look at your head first.”

Grantaire nodded, which was a mistake. He closed his eyes as Joly gently prodded the wound on the back of his head. He heard a sharp intake of breath. “The wheel side hit you, didn’t it?”

“I...think so. I don’t remember.” He tried, but didn’t remember much in the way of details - just the generals. “I left the bar, saw the parked car, walked past it, then I was on the ground and one of them was holding a skateboard. And the laughter. There was lots of laughter.”

“Alright. I’m going to get this one cleaned up. I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but let me see it cleaned up.” Joly was meticulous and careful about cleaning the wound, warning Grantaire with anything would sting as he cleaned the cuts and gashes and used a small pair of forceps to remove some gravel that had gotten stuck in there. “It’s a little hard to wrap it, with your hair, but I’m going to just for the night. I’ll want the bandages changed tomorrow but I won’t make you come in, I’ll come by or anyone can do it, really. But I want to take a look at it tomorrow. I’ll need to prescribe you something for infection, just in case…”

He looked at Grantaire’s black eye and split lip. “No stitches, I don’t think.”

Grantaire’s ankle was next, and Joly had to urge the shoe off carefully. “Oh,” he said, and Grantaire looked down to see a bulging lump of flesh where his ankle used to be. His right foot was turned inside and deathly pale. Bruises of dark purples, blues, and maybe even greens covered the very top of his foot and stretched up his ankle. Now that Grantaire was looking at it, he could feel it throbbing with his heartbeat.

“I tripped trying to get away,” he said, wincing as Joly tried to turn his foot for him. “Tried to catch myself and now this…”

“Well, no wearing Converse for you for a while,” Joly muttered. “Or dancing, or boxing...we’ll have to get you X-rays to be sure but I don’t think it’s broken. Can’t be sure until we get you to the lab, though. I’ll get you to the emergency center for that, or regular lab techs aren’t here right now.”

Great. 

“Now you said your ribs hurt? Can I see?”

This part in particular was why Grantaire had wanted Joly. He unzipped his hoodie and pulled off his t-shirt. The pain was excruciating as he lowered his arms - his back must have gotten it worse than he thought. Then, because he knew where he had been kicked, he slid his fingers under the bottom of his binder and struggled to pull it off over the top of his head. It was hard not to be self-conscious, but this was Joly, the first person Grantaire had ever told when he was ready to start telling. So he just folded his arms as much and as high as he could and let Joly look at the bruises, which covered his back, all down his sides, and unfortunately, his chest.

He sighed at the look in Joly’s eyes. “If you’re going to tell me to not wear it, then I need a doctor’s note for work. I’m not going in looking like this.”

Other than his DJ work, he unloaded deliveries at a grocery store, sorting them for the other employees to shelf. It was a very physical job so he probably shouldn’t be doing for a while anyways.

“You’ll need a week or so before you can wear it again. I’m still not supposed write the doctor’s notes so I’ll get one of the seniors on staff to do it - once they see your ankle it won’t be a problem.” Joly looked at him with concern. “You can put your shirt and hoodie back on, though.”

Once Grantaire was dressed again, Joly sat down in the high office chair all doctors offices had. “Grantaire...if something else happened, I would like for you to tell me. If I need to get a different sort of test underway, I need to know.”

Grantaire looked down at his lap. Joly knew. Which meant that maybe even Enjolras knew - that spot in his hair was perhaps more of a giveaway than he had thought. This was just Joly, his best friend, who had helped Grantaire through a childhood of trauma. So he took a breath and began to speak quietly, letting Joly hear something he didn’t want to remember.

 

* * *

One mouth swab later, followed by an X-ray and a short visit from a resident doctor, Joly and Grantaire were once more alone in the exam room. Joly held his hand and gave a quiet promise that Grantaire would get any help he needed. He released Grantaire’s hand in order to wrap chubby arms around his shoulders. “I’m here for you. If you want a reference for professional help, or if you just want a friendly ear...I’m right here. I love you, R.”

Grantaire returned the embrace. “I love you, too, Joly...thank you for helping me.”

He pulled away and smiled. “You have your prescriptions - you won’t be able to get them until tomorrow but I’ve given you one pill tonight, I just want to nip any infection in the bud.”

“About the other thing...I’ll have to come back for another test in a couple months, right?”

Joly pushed Grantaire’s curls from his face. “Just to be careful.”

“Alright...that’s fine…” Grantaire hunched his shoulders. He felt no better about what had happened, but Joly’s affection was a comfort. He would give anything to go home with Joly and lay between him and Chetta and Bossuet in their warm, soft bed. 

He slid off of the examination table and gingerly stood on both feet. Joly had wrapped his ankle with compression bandage (making jokes about Grantaire’s unsafe practices from the past the whole time) and had him set up with one crutch. Just to be careful while walking - Grantaire also had strict commands to stay off of his right foot as much as possible. He hooked the crutch under his arm and raised his foot.

His chest being free, especially with his size, had him uncomfortable. Everything he tried so hard to hide was openly displayed now. At least he could just go home and be alone after this. Maybe he could get Joly to call him an Uber.

But when Joly walked him down to the waiting room, Enjolras was still there. He had a book open on his lap but was just staring off into space, clearly not paying attention to the words. When they entered, he turned. Grantaire shrunk into himself - this was the last way he wanted Enjolras to see him. But Enjolras just hurried over to him. “Grantaire, are you…” He turned to look at Joly. “Is he…?”

“A little roughed up, and he’ll need to take it easy for a while, but he’ll mend easily. Grantaire always bounces back.” Joly slipped an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders.

The relief that visibly washed over Enjolras surprised Grantaire; he cared that much? “Good, good. I have an Uber on the way, I’ll take you home.”

“What...you don’t have to…” But he would like that, if he was honest. Except his studio was a nightmare of paints, empty bottles, books, and take-out food containers. That was embarrassing, but then again - this entire night was embarrassing. Might as well round it out.

“I will. I want to make sure you get home.” Enjolras rested his hand on top of Grantaire’s shoulder. “You scared me tonight, Grantaire.”

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, a reflex; both of his friends rushed to tell him he had nothing to be sorry for.

Joly waited with them until the Uber arrived, and Enjolras put Grantaire in the back. They set next to each other, and Grantaire was finally allowed to doze on the ride home.

 

* * *

When they reached Grantaire’s building, Enjolras got out with him and asked for his keys. Luckily those had been left alone as well. He unlocked the door for Grantaire and let him swing his way in.

“...Enjolras, why are you helping me?” He asked, standing inside the wood-paneled foyer.

“What do you mean why? You’re my friend and you’re hurt.” He stood in the doorway, holding Grantaire’s keys and looking, honestly, a little hurt himself.

“I just...you never give me the time of day usually, so…” He didn’t know why he asked. Grantaire just hated pity. Especially when it came to Enjolras, who had gained his admiration within the first 24 hours of their meeting.

“You never let me,” Enjolras said. His pierced brows were furrowed. “I’ve tried but all you ever want to do is argue and debate - not even I can spend all of my time doing that. Sometimes I just want to be your friend and have a regular conversation, but…” He shrugged. “Tonight isn’t about that. I just want to get you upstairs, alright?”

“...sure.” But he was surprised by that.

It was slow going up the stairs, with lots of resting in between. But soon enough Enjolras was unlocking Grantaire’s apartment door. This was never how Grantaire had imagined bringing him home, if he had ever allowed himself to imagine that. The apartment was definitely a mess, as he knew it was, and that became apparent when he flicked the light switch on.

“Looks like my place,” Enjolras said with a shrug. “My apartment is about the same unless I get into a bout of -”

“Stress cleaning,” they said in unison. Then Enjolras smiled.

“You too?”

“Yeah.” Grantaire limped over to the couch, then dropped his crutch on the ground as he lowered himself into a seat. Immediately he pulled one of his large throw pillows - a gift from Jehan, to make the place homier, in front of his chest, though there was no way Enjolras hadn’t already seen.  He watched Enjolras take in the half-finished paintings, the walls cluttered with shelves and pictures of friends, the curtains around his mattress-and-a-box-spring-on-the-floor bed. 

“You hungry?” Enjolras asked. “If you have anything in your kitchen I can make you something to eat…”

“No,” he said, wanting to keep Enjolras from seeing that his cupboards were mostly stocked with mostly bottles - of wine and ill-gotten pills - and half-eaten bags of chips. His fridge was no better, the usual supply of leftovers from dinner with mom or one of Jehan’s cooking classes gone for the time being. “Thanks. You don’t have to stick around, I can handle it from here.”

Enjolras was quiet for a minute. He sat down on a chair Grantaire and Bahorel had rescued from a curbside and reupholstered during one of Grantaire’s ‘time to turn around my life’ spells. “I was mugged once, a couple years before moving out of the suburbs. The took everything I had - which, being 17, wasn’t much, but still. One of them had a gun and I was certain that I was going to die. After that, I didn’t want to be alone. It was frightening, even in my own house that I had lived in all of my life. So I just thought…”

Grantaire nodded. “No, I’d… _like_ you to stay. I just don’t want you to feel as if you have to.”

“I don’t. Are you tired? You were pretty much asleep in the car.”

“I...don’t know if I could sleep,” Grantaire admitted. “Now that I’m home, I don’t know…”

“It’s fine, I was just asking. Maybe you should at least lay down, though. Get cleaned up and rest. Joly probably told you to rest, didn’t he?” Enjolras pushed himself up. “I’ll...clear a path.”

Grantaire watched with a little amusement as Enjolras pushed some things out of the way with the toe of his sneaker. Some things Grantaire wouldn't necessarily have wanted Enjolras too see, such as boxers he was too lazy to throw in the hamper and raunchy comics he drew with Feuilly. But he let Enjolras do as he would, because Grantaire was thinking about just three words - “get cleaned up.” He thought about the hard crusted spot in his hair - washed out by Joly’s gentle hands, but he thought he would always feel it -  and the taste in his mouth that persisted even after Joly had given him a lollipop meant for child patients. 

And he felt disgusting. He would have killed to have a bathtub, or to be able to be naked long enough to even take a bath. Even a shower was too much for him right now, with his injuries. But he did haul himself up and into the bathroom, where he brushed his teeth for nearly five minutes.

It still wasn’t enough.

When he came back out, the only light in the apartment was from his TV, which was angled to see from both the living room and his bed, if the curtain was open. Which it was. Enjolras had made the bed up a little bit and was flipping through the options on Grantaire’s prized smart TV. It had been the prize in a raffle he never expected to win and if he was that sort of man, Grantaire would have married it. “Anything you want to put on?”

“Maybe Jules et Jim?” he said, knowing that it would be on his Recent History. “It’s my favourite.”

Enjolras smiled again. “‘Either it’s raining, or I’m dreaming.’”

“‘Maybe it’s both,’” Grantaire answered, repeating Catherine’s response to Jim.

“It’s my favourite, too. I can’t keep track of how many time I’ve seen it.” Enjolras found the movie and switched it on. “Do you need help getting all the way down onto the bed?”

“...I think so,” he was forced to admit.

Enjolras looked at his set up. “If you had a bed frame this would be easier.” Then he stopped and seemed to think. “If I recall, you and Bossuet spent three days putting together a bed frame from Ikea for you. What happened to that?”

Grantaire had a brief flashback of himself and Courfeyrac with homemade wrestling masks on and the John Cena theme song playing in the background, with Courfeyrac saying ‘If we try the piledriver on the bed neither of us will get hurt!’

“Accident,” he said quickly. “Anyways, I like it down here. That way my...collections don’t get lost underneath it.”

Enjolras’s brows were furrowed again, but this time a smile was playing at his lips. “Here, just let me get you down.”

Grantaire didn’t realize until too late that such help meant Enjolras would have to touch him. He helped lower Grantaire down while Grantaire concentrated on keeping his leg out of the way. That left Enjolras with the option of hooking his arm underneath Grantaire’s arms, and Grantaire’s cheeks burned when in inevitable happened with him being unbound and Enjolras’ hands where they were. He flinched and pulled away. “I got it, I got it…”

Enjolras put his hands down by his side. “I’m sorry. Grantaire...it’s alright. You know half of us are - “

“No!” he said. He didn’t like that. “I know everyone is ready to dismantle gender but me being trans has nothing to DO with that, and that’s why I never TOLD anyone, I don’t want to...to get involved…”

Grantaire’s anger had always been explosive. And after tonight, he knew it was bound to erupt.

But not at Enjolras and not over this.

He expected a cold quip, for Enjolras to leave. Instead, Enjolras sat on his knees on the bed and drew Grantaire to him in an embrace. “It’s okay. I know you’re scared and angry and sad.”

That affection squashed Grantaire’s temper like a torrential downpour on flames. He wrapped his arms around Enjolras and rested his forehead on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t yell, I just…today was so hard, and I didn’t want anyone else to know. I know we’re all supposed to be proud of who we are and some BS but I’m NOT! I just want to hide until I get...e-everything done, and...and, and tonight was so unexpected...and I-I’m lucky enough that I DID pass because who knows how bad it could have gotten and I - I…” His words faded as he felt himself start to tremble, his breath coming short. He couldn’t breathe at all and he felt very lost in his own bed. Suddenly everything was overwhelming - the air on his skin, the sound of his own heaving, everything except Enjolras’ presence.

“Breathe,” Enjolras said, rubbing circles in Grantaire’s back. “Breathe, R. In: 1, 2, 3, 4. Out: 1, 2, 3, 4. Breath for me, alright? I’m right here, you’re safe. You’re in your own bed and you’re okay...you’re okay…”

“I...I’m not, I can’t…” 

Enjolras reached into Grantaire’s hoodie pocket. After a moment, he let out a soft, “ah.” The deft fingers were against the sides of his head and Enjolras had expertly pressed the neon plugs into his ears. With Enjolras pressed close to him, that smell of hyacinths he always associated with the man in his nose, he could still hear his voice and his words, but everything else was blocked out.

Grantaire closed his eyes, and the world became nothing but himself and Enjolras. Enjolras, holding him tight as the panic worked its way up through his stomach, along his spin, into his fingertips, seeping from his wounds like blood. Enjolras, who Grantaire had always thought was above him, sitting with him and keeping him stable through a low, low part of his life.

Enjolras, who rocked him a little bit and murmured a song against his hair. First just murmurs and hums and then words. It took a moment to pierce through the veil - words about rings on her fingers, bracelets on her arm, opal eyes on a femme fatale. La Tourbillon, featured in their shared movie, from Enjolras’ lips as Grantaire felt the crescendo of the attack move past him. He tensed, then relaxed slowly under Enjolras’ attentions.

After what felt like hours, he blinked a couple times until he faded back into the world. At that point, Enjolras was leaning against the wall, Grantaire almost in his lap.

“There you are,” Enjolras murmured when he looked up at him. “You feel any better?”

As usual after one of his panic attacks, he did. “A little, I think,” he said as he pulled the plugs from his ears. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened…”

“After the night you had, I think I can forgive you.” Enjolras showed no signs of moving from his spot, and Grantaire did not want to be the one to move. They sat with the movie playing quietly for a couple moments as Grantaire came down from the rush of emotion. But soon, too soon, Enjolras heaved a sigh. “Grantaire, if something else serious happened tonight when you were mugged...I hope you told Joly.”

“I did,” he said.

“Do you want to tell me, too?” Enjolras asked. His voice was soft, and Grantaire had a feeling that tonight was the first time they had been open, real, complex human beings with each other.

Grantaire thought about for a minute. Did he?

No - it was too personal, too fresh.

Yes - he wanted to get it all off of him, away from him.

No - this was _Enjolras_ , whom he had admired and loved for years, who brought people up and change humanity.

Yes - this was Enjolras, a _person_ , a man just like him, who was offering to help, to listen when all Grantaire had ever wanted was a moment of his time.

He tilted his head up and started to tell Enjolras the story of his night.  
  


* * *

When Grantaire woke in the morning, it was with a warmth under him that he had not known in quite some time - another person. His right eye protested with aches but still, he managed to get it open enough to look around the room. Everything was bathed in the golden light of late morning. His TV was on. And Enjolras was asleep next to him, Grantaire’s head resting on his chest. Slowly, Grantaire pulled away to look at him. He was beautiful asleep, as Grantaire had always thought he would be - he had seen the man passed out offer too much working or a party that went on too long, but never just sleeping of his own choice. He looked simple, peaceful, pure.

It made Grantaire feel ill for being near him. He had no blissful ignorance of his predicament when he woke - no, Grantaire remembered immediately upon waking and still felt filthy. Even after Enjolras promising him he wasn’t.

He even felt stupid for feeling dirty - it was stereotypical. And when he had said THAT, Enjolras had looked near to tears. _“It’s not stereotypical, Grantaire...it’s how you feel and that’s what matters. Even if it’s not the truth. You’re not dirty at all. You’re not.”_

Still. Grantaire felt bad, and he felt bad about feeling bad. 

But Enjolras was so warm that Grantaire couldn’t help but stay close to him. He reached for his phone by habit before remembering it was long gone. With a sigh he pulled the blankets up over them both. Enjolras stirred, and after a moment Grantaire was looking into those warm eyes. When the two had first met, Grantaire had thought them cold and sharp. How wrong could a person be?

Enjolras was, understandably, confused when he woke. Grantaire just let him remember in quiet, until Enjolras broke it with a yawn. “For a moment,” he admitted, “I was very confused. I don’t often have one-night stands with friends.”

“Me either,” Grantaire said, trying not to think about Enjolras calling him a friend.

“Not since Combeferre,” he said.

At the same time Enjolras said, “At least not since Combeferre.”

They looked at each other and Enjolras’ laughter was infectious enough that Grantaire laughed, too. He had rarely seen Enjolras LAUGH that way. It was so bright. And about something so unexpected. Grantaire folded an arm under his head. “You and Combeferre?”

“Yes, when we were living in the dorms. We shared a room and things just got a little heated a couple times. But we never like, dated or anything. What happened with the two of you?”

Grantaire closed his eyes. “We were both feeling too lonely one night when Courf was openly pining after Marius, and I was in a bad spot, so we just sort of...fell in together.”

Which meant that Combeferre was counted among the two - now three, he guessed - people who knew Grantaire was trans. It hadn’t slowed him down any; not that Grantaire expected it to. And Combeferre had been good. He had really known what he was doing and left Grantaire a quivering mess. But now was not the time to be thinking about that - after last night he didn’t think he’d be interested in anything like that for a long time. 

“Never would have thought,” Enjolras said. “Of course, never expected this to happen. I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable or anything. I didn’t mean to fall asleep but this bed is really comfortable, and you were warm, and...it just happened.”

“It’s alright,” Grantaire said. “I think maybe waking up next to someone was good for me after...all of that.”

“I’m glad, then.” And under the blanket, he took Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire opened his eyes to watch Enjolras, and saw that the other was just staring up at the ceiling. But their hands were still joined. “It’s...true what I said last night. That I’d really like the chance to be your friend.”

“I think you’ve already done that.” Grantaire closed his eyes again.”You helped me when you didn’t have to. That sounds like a friend.”

“Yeah? I just thought maybe...I don’t know, with the way you always argue with me on everything, that you didn’t want to be my friend.”

“What?” At this, Grantaire not only opened his eyes, but sat up. “That...that’s the farthest from the truth, Enjolras. I argue with you because you don’t...well, you never really paid attention to me unless I did.”

“I’m sorry for that. I know I get wrapped up in things and seem really serious. But you always had my attention. I think we could be really good friends.” Enjolras smiled and sat up. “Maybe now we can try.”

Grantaire had been through a terrible night. He felt sick, still, and he was in a lot of pain. Here was a path of healing head of him that he didn’t know if he could handle. But maybe with Enjolras being so open with him...it would be a little bit easier. “I think we can, Enjolras. Thank you for...everything. You did a lot for me.”

“I’m here to help.”

He squeezed Grantaire’s hand once, then stood up. “Do you want breakfast? It will only be a matter of time before Joly gets here and he won’t be happy if there’s no food in you.”

“Or you.” Grantaire knew Joly well, after all. “Sure, sure. There’s not much in the house, though.”

Enjolras stretched his arms above his head and pulled his shoes on. “There’s a little diner down the street though, right? I’ll go get something there, then we can watch something else.”

Grantaire agreed and gave Enjolras his keys. Once he was alone, He rested his head against the pillow. Last night had been a hellscape that he never wanted to relive, or even remember. There was no good part of the night; no one would ever want attention or affection for the reasons Grantaire had received them. He was down, far down at rock bottom.

His TV, connected to FB, made the messenger pop, and Grantaire grabbed his remote to switch to that app. Joly had messaged him. Enjolras was down the street, getting breakfast. Sure, there was nothing good that had happened last night. He was at the bottom. He was not left behind. It would be easy to call the bank, to get a new phone, to get his medication. The other parts might not be as simple. But Grantaire thought that just maybe he wouldn’t have to do it alone.


End file.
